


Reckless Endangerment

by Kittie



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst to Fluff, M/M, Really based on a Left4Dead game, Zombie AU, i am really proud of this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 07:59:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6603088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittie/pseuds/Kittie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen is too late to react and fears Dorian will pay the price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reckless Endangerment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neosiuss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neosiuss/gifts).



Sleep is hard to come by these days. Be it because of the walls that crumble around them or the stench of death that has become their norm as they traverse Ferelden in the search of a place call Haven, Cullen has begun to lose entire hours. Mindless is walking and walking mindlessly when surrounded by infected ready to pounce on you at any given moment is not a good idea. 

Varric prattles on about something or other that leaves Cullen with a headache and a want to shove a sock into his mouth when he hears a growl. It might be his stomach or undead or even the strangely mutated elves that hung from high points to jump on you before you had a chance to flee. It could have been anything.

He’s too slow to react to it. 

Too many nights spent awake trying to keep the horror the lurked in his subconscious at bay. Knowing he spoke in his sleep just loud enough for the infected to hear him. He was a liability and he knew it. This attack was just another nail in the coffin except the nails do not punch into his own but into his friend’s. Into Dorian’s who cuts him off, roughly hip checking him until he stumbles and the screech echoes in his ears. Cullen’s face loses color and he sees blood. 

Red becomes his vision as the sound of gunfire rings in his ear. Everyone reacts faster than he does. He wants to blame it on the way he’s been jarred but they all look at him with knowing looks, worry evident upon all. 

A hand. Maker, a hand waves as Dorian shoves the body from his own. His mustache is sideways and covered in viscera that no one has bothered to care about in weeks. Amber meets gray and Cullen lets out a breath he knows he’s been holding.

“Dorian–”

“No need to thank me. Except do. I don’t think I’ll be doing that again any time soon.”

Cullen tries to continue the conversation but Cassandra hoists him up and Varric lends a hand to lift the Tevinter. The conversation is dropped for now as the sounds of sobbing fill the area. 

_Maker’s blood, this is going to be a day._

* * *

A safe house is found and, blessed be to Andraste and her beloved, there’s running water. They all take turns in the bath, Dorian allowed first in favor of needing a break from his incessant whining about being covered in filth. Next was Cassandra, Varric, and then himself. Being clean does wonders, he’s found. The tense feeling that had permeated the air prior had dissipated. The headache? Gone in a matter of moments as steam filled his lungs and relaxes his muscles.

A towel sits low on his hips as Cullen runs water over the faded red of his flannel over shirt that he tries, in vain, to clean until he finger nails are stained red with the blood and matter of infected. His body has been scrubbed raw, pink with heat and irritation all in one. A sound catches his attention and he notices Dorian leaning in the door way, pants he must have lifted from the prior owners settles low on his hips. They’re far too big, Cullen thinks to himself before looking back at his work to not pointedly stare at the man who saved his life.

“You know when I said I wanted a thanks earlier, you never extended one. That’s quite rude if I’ve read on you Fereldans correctly. I tried to confer with the others but, alas, you are the only Fereldan among us and I must know if I’m to ever be repaid for saving your life.”

The blond stills in his movements and looks up towards the mirror. It’s intact but somewhat clouded from the steam of multiple showers. He can make out the shape of the man in all his glory, smirk and all, looking at him with the smuggest look he can muster. Part of him wants to bristle at the idea he hasn’t been forth coming with his thanks but Dorian is right. He owes the man a thanks for saving him when it would have been easier to let the weakest link of their group go. 

Cullen should have died and the face in the mirror that looks back at him knows it as well. 

“Dorian, I… Forgive me, thank you, but it wasn’t necessary.” His tone leaves little to question the way he means dying would have been a far better fate than what they have here. He’s tired. He’s in pain. He wants to go back to the small hovel Cassandra kept him in whilst awaiting word from Leliana. Before all of this happened. Before he was stuck with the dwarf that never shut up and a man who could make his heart pick up in pace by flirtations he gave to every person that seemed to cross their path and even himself.

“Wasn’t necessary? I cannot carry this team in attractiveness alone. Though, Cassandra can pull her own… I wouldn’t necessarily mind the dwarf but that chest hair?” Those eyes, gray in color and far sharper than they have any right to be betray the way the man feels about Cullen’s words. The blond immediately wishes to take them back but what good would that do? The blond had meant them. He should have died there and not been a weakness to their team.

“Dorian…” Cullen warns but the mage is stepping forward and placing his hand on the wet counter that surely seeps into the sweat pants he’s commandeered from now infected or dead owners.

“Don’t do that. Don’t. You’ve saved our bloody lot more than you give yourself credit for. You’ve done so much—“ Cullen opens his mouth and Dorian waves a hand at his face, “Don’t, Cullen, let me speak. We have bad days. More than our fair share as of recently but I refuse to let you, of all people, die when I have the chance to save you. Understand? Don’t be a martyr. I don’t particularly like tragedies.”

The words settle on his shoulders, cement pressing into the very meat of his back. He wants to sag forward until his face his tainted waters and he might drown to escape what Dorian implies. He doesn’t matter. He’s an ex-soldier with too many problems. The Tevinter could have had a life were it not for the dead that fumbled about. Dorian could have been more than he is but Cullen? He’s nothing more than a shattered man that’s been picking up the pieces of himself ever since he left Kirkwall.

“Now by your silence I’m going to take that as you understand and are too speechless to disagree. Good. I do hate a needless argument. I’m fine. You’re fine. There’s nothing to fret about,” The man smiles at him like he means it and the blond nearly falters with a want to please the man and never let him down like he has today but they both know Cullen is a hero and will be until his dying breath. They’re both aware his end will be him falling to save another, “Now, you’re going to leave your clothes to soak here over night and I’m going to leave mine in the tub. Cassandra and Varric have settled into their rooms which leaves the last one for us. Our Knight in Shining Armor Cassandra was a dear and checked everything for us. No infected. No need for a watch. You are going to sleep even if I have to exhaust you to do that.”

There’s a hand that falls on his shoulder, the touch is warm and oh-so-wanted as Cullen mumbles noncommittedly. He should sleep. They should sleep. He shouldn’t exhaust himself too completely and Dorian should not take up the mantle of needing to help exhaust him. He doubts the man truly knows what he offers until fingers dig into his flesh and the blond groans at the feel of it. Perhaps he’s the one that truly doesn’t know what is in store between them.

“Dorian, stop. You don’t need to… you, ah, Maker, that’s nice.” Cullen rumbles out as the man takes to stepping behind him completely to offer both hands to relax him. The difference in their height isn’t noticeable with him leaning over the basin and his fellow standing behind him. A head shorter, if that, and a year younger if he remembers the dates Dorian had once offered in an explanation of his life before. A blush coats his cheeks and he hates himself for how much he enjoys this. How easy it is to get lost in the way talented fingers smooth out muscles until a sharp jab into a particularly deep knot causes him to groan out in more pain than enjoyment. Within a second, Dorian leans forward and breathes into the shell of his ear.

“Don’t you think for a second I don’t know what I need to do and what I don’t need to. I’m doing this because I want to and because I’ve been neglectful to you in these past few days. I should have noticed you slipping, amatus.” Fingers still and Cullen swallows down the lump in his throat. Words aren’t exchanged, not any longer. Now this becomes hands searching the flesh of his back and leaning his head against the blond’s neck hoping to ground himself in the here and now where they are both find and alive when they nearly weren’t mere hours ago.

* * *

 

Cullen only manages to sleep five hours before night terrors rouse him but what he awakes to is better than any dream his mind has ever allowed him to have. Dorian’s hand is against his chest, fingers curled around a hip as his arm is thrown over his waist. The Tevinter’s facial hair tickles but Cullen feels content here with his head resting on someone else’s pillow. He only wishes he could have met Dorian before this blighted infection spread like wildfire throughout the land. He only wishes he could have properly courted the man before lying beside him, above him, and under him.

There would be time for that when they reached Haven but for now he brings fingers through tousled black locks and thanks the Maker that a man like Dorian exists to remind him there’s a life worth living even in the darkest of times.


End file.
